


Curious

by TookiClothespin



Series: Curious [1]
Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: AYITL, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Literati (Gilmore Girls), Mild Smut, Post-AYITL, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 09:52:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8662885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TookiClothespin/pseuds/TookiClothespin
Summary: “You know, I always kind of regretted that we never…” Rory admits, color rising in her cheeks. “I was just....curious.”Rory, Jess, and some unfinished business. Set during A Year in the Life. Spoilers through "Summer."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Eternal thanks to Michelle, and to all of the wonderful Lits.

He comes to visit her again at the _Gazette_ , shortly after Lorelai stomps all over her book, her plan, her _everything_. She’s irritated and lost and--more than anything-- _embarrassed_ , and she doesn’t want to deal with him looking at her like he thinks she can be better than this. She knows by now that she can't be.

He greets her with a smile, looking down at her so that his dark hair falls into his face, and she responds with a curt “Hi.” He raises his eyebrows at her tone and doesn’t sit down.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yup,” she says, punching a few random keys on the computer. Green nonsense flashes back at her on the screen; she still hasn’t figured out MS-DOS. 

“I was just passing through for Doula’s dance recital and I wanted to see how you are, but it looks like you’re kind of busy.”

“Yup,” she says again, and she doesn’t dare look up at his face. She knows he looks bewildered at best; pissed off at worst. 

“Okay, I’ll just get going then. I just--I wanted to give you this.”

She has to look up now. He’s standing over her desk, brows furrowed, holding out a business card.

“I know where to reach you, Jess,” she says.

“It’s not mine,” he responds.

She frowns, not taking the bait, and punches some random keys again. She wants him to know that he’s wasting her time. 

“It’s a friend of mine, an agent I know,” he says. “Steve Wilkins. He does a lot of work with memoirists; has a great eye for the kind of story you’re writing. I told him a little about your book and he wants you to give him a call.”

She feels a pit in her stomach and heat rising in her face.

“I don’t need it,” she says, trying to keep her voice even.

“You got an agent already?” he asks, sounding impressed. It reminds her of that moment at her grandparents’ house-- _You graduate already, Doogie?--_ and she feels a chill of self-disgust rise from her spine.

“Nope.” 

“Sold the book straight to a pub?” 

“Nope,” she says, her voice tighter and firmer this time.

“Then what?” he asks.

“Then _nothing_ ,” she says. “There’s no more book.”

He starts to repeat _there’s no more book_ and she jumps over him before he can finish.

“Just get _out_ , Jess!” she yells, much louder than she intended. “Why are you even here? No one asked you to _be_ here. No one asked for your _help_!”

She spits out the word _help_ with venomous disgust. Esther and Charlie look up from their desks, scandalized, and she lowers her voice. Her tone is softer now, less steely and more desperate than before. 

“Please,” she breathes out, sounding defeated. “Just _go_.”

Back when she first met him, Jess had no problem taking off. He left without permission, without saying goodbye, practically all the time. Now, when he’s begged to _just go_ , he sinks down into a chair instead.

“Rory,” he says, pushing around the _Bernie Roundbottom_ placard and staring straight into her eyes. It’s the tenderness in his voice that does her in. A sob rises in her throat and she pushes away from her desk, rushing toward the back of the office and into a tiny room.

Jess follows her, tentatively pushing the door open to find a small, dusty lounge. There’s a water cooler, a folding table, and a very old couch. Rory stands in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around herself as she cries.

“Rory,” he says again, approaching her slowly. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” she mumbles.

“It’s okay,” he says sincerely. “You’re going to be okay.” 

“How can you even be this nice to me?” she cries, looking up at him through her tears. “I mean, I’m a jerk. I’m awful. I can’t get a job, I can’t get my life together, I treat people like dirt. I treated you like dirt. I don’t deserve _nice_.”

Jess’ eyes soften and he offers Rory a small, sympathetic smile.

“Once upon a time, _I_ didn’t deserve nice. And you gave it to me anyway.”

Rory makes a noise--a half-laugh, half-sob kind of noise--and pulls the sleeves of her sweater over her hands. She stretches the fabric back and forth a few times, clenching and releasing her fists, and when she speaks again her voice is a low, broken whisper.

“But you were seventeen then, Jess. I’m _thirty-two_.”  

Her face crumples and her body follows, and Jess catches her in his arms, steadying her against his chest. She speaks as she cries, choking out phrases like “I don’t--” and “How can--” and “What did--” into his shoulder. He waits until her breathing is steady and her face is dry before attempting to respond.

“You okay?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” she says, sounding less broken and more like herself. “I’m sorry about that. I’m just a little...overwhelmed.”

He gives her an understanding nod. “‘Overwhelmed’ is pretty normal.”

“To be honest,” she says, letting out a bitter little laugh, “I’m pretty done with the whole ‘overwhelmed’ thing.”

“Well, that’s normal, too,” he smiles. There’s a beat, and then he speaks again. “So, what’s the plan then? Where does Rory Gilmore go from here?”

She looks up at him and exhales.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” he repeats. ““What happened to becoming Christiane Amanpour?" 

“Oh, that was just a--a _dream_ , you know? It was never an actual plan.”

“Huh,” Jess says, cocking an eyebrow. “Could’ve fooled me. You were pretty serious back when we were kids. You practically burned me in effigy when I suggested the correspondent life might be kinda rough.” 

“But that’s the thing,” she says. “We were kids. I thought I was serious when we were kids, and then I...grew up.”

“You ‘grew up’?” he repeats.

Rory sighs and reaches for her shirtsleeves again.

“I thought it was hard, moving from Stars Hollow High to Chilton, you know? Everyone was so ahead, so focused, and I--”

“And you still came out on top,” Jess interjects.

“Yeah,” she mumbles. “But Yale...Yale was like moving to a different planet. I got there with this, I don’t know, with this vague dream of becoming a journalist, and I met people who were already actually doing it. College freshmen who’d already had essays published in the _New York Times_. Who were already out there pitching and writing and getting those bylines, and I? I once had a letter to the editor published in the _Stars Hollow Gazette_. And Kirk butchered it so only three words in that letter were actually mine.”

“Rory…”

“The girl who lived across the hall from me in sophomore year? She interned with CNN when she was 20. She worked directly with Christiane Amanpour. And now she has her own show on MSNBC-- _Cold Cash_ with Erika Smith. Do you know Raj Patel? The guy who comes on after Erika? He was two years behind me at Yale. I once saw him drunkenly try to open a window with a car key.”

“Rory…”

“The metro editor at the _Times_ was on the paper with me. Essays editor at the _Washington Post_ was in my major. Editor-in-chief of the _Daily Beast,_ senior correspondent on CNN, features editor at _Cosmopolitan_ , all Yale graduates. All people who graduated with me.”

“So?”

Rory shakes her head and shrugs.

“Did you know I actually met Christiane Amanpour once? She was at the Inn and mom came and got me, and I went down there in my pajamas, and she was--she was so amazing and encouraging, and she gave me her card and told me to send her some of my work.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Rory says. “I never did, though. I drafted the e-mail and re-drafted it and re-drafted it, and every time I was about to send it, I just...couldn’t. And then months went by, and then years went by, and I...I should have just sent it.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I guess…,” Rory says, biting her lip. “I guess I was scared.”

“Are you still scared now?”

“More than ever,” she admits.

He nods and a determined look falls over his face.

“Do it anyway,” he says. “Do the Christiane Amanpour thing anyway.” 

“But-- _how_?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “But you know who does? Raj, Erika, the _Cosmo_ editor, the one who’s at the _Times_. My buddy Steve. Call them up. Ask them. Ask Christiane herself.”

She starts to say “I can’t,” but she swallows it and begins again.

“Maybe.”

“It’s your best shot,” he says. “Use your Yale contacts to get your work published, to get your foreign correspondent job. You’ll be beating them all out for Emmys and Pulitzers in no time at all.”

She smiles at him, and it starts as a wry smile until she meets his eyes and sees him smiling, too. Then she feels a flutter in her stomach, and her smile becomes shy and flushed and familiar. After all these years, it’s a wonder he can still make her smile like that. 

She looks away and when she glances back, his eyes are still on her. She knows what comes next in this dance--another shy smile, a hand on his shoulder--and she knows she should sit this song out. But his lips look so soft and his eyes look so warm, and were his arms always this big?

So she lets herself fall into the familiar steps, leading because he’s too cautious to do so himself, and soon her face is breaths away from him, and then her eyes are closing against the questions in his, and then--and then they are kissing.

It’s gentle for only one moment, and then it turns deep and intense. They are pressed against each other, her hands raking across his back, feeling his muscles flex as his own hands move to graze against her ass.

She latches onto his lower lip--that adorable, crooked lower lip---and pulls it into her mouth, sucking on it before rolling it gently between her teeth.

He makes a choked sound and then his hands are in her hair, pulling her chestnut locks to one side so he can worship the creamy skin on the other. He starts at the base of her neck and works his way up to her ear, sucking gently as he goes. He tugs her earlobe with her teeth and she cries out, instinctively pressing her hips against his.

His lips find hers again and his hands start to move, cupping her ass and then circling her hips, trailing up until they are firmly against her breasts. He finds her nipples are already stiff underneath her sweater, and as he drags his palms against them she moans. 

They stumble back toward the ancient couch, ignoring the dust bunnies and the stale scent that rise when they sink onto the lumpy cushions. Rory parts her legs and Jess settles between them, pressing against her as they kiss. 

Rory angles her hips, grinding against him through their jeans, and despite the raw desire and heady want that overwhelms them, they realize this sort of feels like a night they shared many years ago.

Then she says, “Jess, wait,” and it feels _exactly_ like a night they shared many years ago--except this time he stops immediately, pulling himself away from her as they both sit up.

“Are you okay?” he asks, worry written all over his face.

“I’m fine,” she says. “I’m fine, but, I _can’t_.”

“Okay.”

“I just--I make terrible decisions when it comes to _this_ ,” she says, gesturing between them, “and I just--”

Jess raises an eyebrow at “this.”

“Oh, god, no, I didn’t mean you! I swear I didn’t mean you. I meant…” She breaks off, shaking her head. She meant Dean and Logan and that poor guy, Paul. She meant everything and everyone she didn’t want to tell Jess about. “I didn’t mean you.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You’ve had a rough day--a stretch of rough days, it seems. I shouldn’t be kissing you like that anyway.”

“I started it,” Rory says, sounding guilty.

Jess shrugs her admission away.

“You have to stop punishing yourself, Gilmore. All I keep hearing from you is ‘ _I_ messed it up, _I_ started it, _I_ couldn’t do it.’ Give yourself a break.”

“I’ve given myself ten years of breaks,” she says, nodding at herself because she knows it’s true.

“There you you go again,” Jess says, smiling. They sit in silence, absorbing the weight of both of their statements, until Rory speaks again.

“You know, I always kind of regretted that we never…” Rory admits, color rising in her cheeks.

“Yeah?”

“I was just....curious.”

He smiles, and while his expression isn’t entirely readable, a certain playfulness is clear in his eyes.

“Tell you what,” he says. “You figure out your next step, report from a few ditches overseas, get an office with a better couch than this...and if you’re still curious then, you give me a call.”

Rory’s head is cloudy from feeling him pressed between her legs just moments before, and she wants to say no--she wants to peel her pants off and find out right _now_ , right here on this crappy couch, with nothing else accomplished or even planned--but this time she listens to the disciplined voice in her head and agrees to wait.

She rises from the couch, holding a hand out to him, and walks them back to her desk. They sit, and she asks about Doula’s dance recital. She asks about Steve. She actually takes the card from him this time, and she’s careful not to let her hand linger on Jess’ as the paper passes between them.

If she’s going to do this, she’s going to do it right. _She_  isgoing to be right.

 


End file.
